Jerks of the Week - March 19, 2012

Jerks of the Week for March 19, 2012

JERK OF THE WEEK: Jerks of St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day is an incredible holiday. People dress in green and drink themselves into oblivion, and for what? Because it's March 17? What does St. Patrick's Day even mean? Who was St. Patrick, and what did he do to warrant his own holiday? I imagine that he invented beer, banged a lot of chicks, or fought for Ireland's independence from an evil country like England or France. But those are just educated guesses. No one knows what St. Patrick accomplished, yet everyone celebrates him. It's pretty amazing.

I've always had fun on St. Patrick's Day. Of course, I've consumed numerous alcoholic beverages over the years on March 17. Then there's the fact that the NCAA Tournament is always going on. I've met new friends, and when I was much younger, I got action for the first time. With a girl.

This St. Patrick's Day wasn't any different. I watched college basketball, drank with friends and had a number of strange, Jerks of the Week-worthy encounters over the two weekend nights.

I want to do another live blog for my St. Patrick's Day weekend. I did this a few weeks ago for the Wednesday from Hell, and I liked how that turned out. A warning though - the entire weekend was a drunken haze, so I can't guarantee that all of the time details will be 100-percent accurate. It'll be close though because I never blacked out - an indication that the weekend wasn't as successful as it could have been.

Friday night, 12:20 a.m.: I arrive at Tagno super late because of the NCAA Tournament. Fortunately, I only have a few drinks in me at this time, so I don't completely spaz out when I notice that the hot blond bartender isn't working.

Like I said, I didn't completely spaz out. Had I been on my seventh or eighth beer, I would have flipped over chairs, broken pool sticks in half and agreed to collect some STDs from Drunkest Woman Ever.

It's worth noting that I haven't seen Drunkest Woman Ever since the bar reopened around Thanksgiving. I'd send out a search party for her, but there are way too many corners in Philly where she can be turning tricks for 75 cents per customer.

Friday night, 12:22 a.m.: There's no hot bartender for me to overtip, but I do notice this new chick in our group. She's wearing a green shirt with a pink baseball cap. She has brown hair and dark eyes, which is my type. She's super-hot, but I need more liquid courage to talk to her.

Friday night, 12:28 a.m.: I notice two bad things about Pink Baseball Cap Girl. First, she has a big tattoo on her left arm. I hate tattoos - I think they are ugly and unnecessary, and show poor decision-making - and second, she went outside to smoke cigarettes. If I learned anything from Mr. Mackey's health class, it's that smoking is bad. Plus, my nuncle just died of lung cancer. The cigarettes show even poorer decision-making on Pink Baseball Cap Girl's part, but then I think, "Maybe she'll make some poor decisions with me tonight, giggity, giggity."

Friday night, 12:35 a.m.: We sit at a table. I'm talking to my Asian friend Not Asian Guy about something when I hear Jess ask someone, "Do you want to see naked pictures of Jackie?" Jackie was Jess' hot lesbian ex-girlfriend, so this definitely piques my interest.

Me: Yes! Show them! Show them!

Jess: Walt, that's your sister!

Whoops, my sister is also named Jackie. As it turns out, Jess is joking about the whole ordeal. So, not only do I embarrass myself, I also miss out on the opportunity of seeing pictures of a hot lesbian. Can life get any worse?

Friday night, 12:40 a.m.: Pink Baseball Cap Girl returns from her cigarette break. She sits down on the other side of the table. I stare at her tattoo. Despite the fact that she's really pretty otherwise, the tattoo bothers me. It's so massive that it's basically a mural. I can't even make out what it is. It's gray and black, and there are stars, clouds and buildings painted on to her arm. It's like she got a tattoo of the Philadelphia skyline for some strange reason. Better than obscure Chinese letters, I guess.

Friday night, 12:50 a.m.: Pink Baseball Cap Girl goes to the band area. I continue talking to Not Asian Guy when he asks me a question I've been waiting for all night:

Not Asian Guy: Do you want to go look at boobies?

Me: Hell yes.

Boobies is our nickname for Penthouse Photo Hunt - a touchscreen game we often play at Tango. If you don't know what it is, Penthouse Photo Hunt shows you two pictures of naked girls, and you have to find the five differences before time runs out. We currently own the high score on the Tango machine, with the name of "Pee Drip Drip." We also own the third-place score dubbed "Poop Drop Drop." We're cool like that.

Friday night, 1:05 a.m.: Jess comes over to help us play Boobies. I take this opportunity to ask her about Pink Baseball Cap Girl.

Me: Who's that chick with the pink baseball cap?

Jess: I don't know who that is. That's Always Trashed Girl's friend.

Jess didn't say "Always Trashed Girl," but that's what I call this particular chick. She seems like a nice girl, but I've never really had a conversation with her because every single time I've ever seen her, she's completely drunk out of her mind. I've never seen her even remotely close to sober.

Friday night, 1:07 a.m.: Almost on cue, Always Trashed Girl and Pink Baseball Cap Girl walk by to go to the bathroom. Pink Baseball Cap Girl gives me a smile. Looks like she'll be making bad decisions with me soon.

Friday night, 1:15 a.m.: We've played one too many games of Boobies. I'm pretty worn out by it, so I'm not finding as many mismatches.

Jess: Pick up the slack, Walt!

Me: Meh...

Jess: Don't make me do all of the work!

Me: But... but... no hot bartender and pink baseball cap has tattoo on her arm and tired of playing game and blegh...

Friday night, 1:20-1:55 a.m.: The rest of the night is a blur. Pink Baseball Cap Girl disappears to the band area again, so I talk to my friends the whole time.

Friday night, 1:56 a.m.: Pink Baseball Cap Girl reappears with Always Trashed Girl and some blond chick. I strike up a conversation with Pink Baseball Cap Girl that lasts about 10 minutes. She seems pretty interesting. I'm not really sure what the hell she was saying, but I remember being really captivated. She was definitely the girl of my dreams, save for the tattoo and cigarettes. Maybe I can get past that, I think.

Friday night, 2:06 a.m.: They begin kicking us out of Tango. Of course, no one pays any attention to this. The aforementioned blond chick gives me some of her many green beads because I'm not wearing green. I try to tell her that it was still March 16 when I left the house, but I'm too drunk to convey my point to her.

Friday night, 2:08 a.m.: Pink Baseball Cap Girl and Blond Beads Girl ask me if I'm coming tomorrow. I am now. They leave, but not before Blond Beads Girl tells me to wear the green beads tomorrow. It's nice to know that I have a fallback option, but I'm still way more interested in Pink Baseball Cap Girl.

Friday night, 2:15 a.m.: We leave the bar. Jess, Always Trashed Girl and I are talking outside when Always Trashed Girl sees an orange cone that has a word beginning with the letters "Dan-" on it.

Always Trashed Girl scans her surroundings to see if anyone is looking. She then picks up the cone, carries it to Jess' car and stuffs it into the back seat. Crazy stuff is already going down, and we're just two hours into St. Patrick's Day.

Saturday afternoon, 4:30 p.m.: I'm writing a Jerks of the Week entry that I will post next week (I initially planned it for this week but I had to post this), when I receive the following text:

Dek wak uog will be visit by three dry ken people.

I assume this is supposed to say, "Dear Walt, you will be visited by three drunken people." The ghosts of St. Patrick's past, present and future? Maybe they'll help me get over Pink Baseball Cap Girl's tattoo and cigarettes.

Saturday afternoon, 4:31-6:30 p.m.: I received random texts from Jess' phone over the next two hours. Here they are with my responses to them:

Text: Der Wwak uog wil be visit by three dry ken people

Me: Who?

Text: rack jamie al's I

Me: When

Text: In the next foe I hours

Me: I look forward to it

Text: 3some

Me: Nice

Text: Red u and I

Text: Jamie would p

Text: B beet by Dane if he can't join

Me: Who is Dane?

Text: Dave

Text: So we screwing?

Me: perhaps

Text: Jane has kidnapped my phone tis not me! I swear!

Me: Who's Jane?

Text: Dane Bielefeld

Text: Girlfriend

Text: that's word!

Text: We come with party at 630 be easy

Me: lol be easy?

Text: Daddy not easy

Text: Welcome now

Me: What?

Text: We come low

"We come low" means "We're coming now." Everyone who was already out for St. Patrick's Day invited themselves to my house. I don't mind having my friends here, but I can't hang out with them because I need to get work done so I can go out that night and try to game Pink Baseball Cap Girl. This takes priority over everything. I know nothing about her, but I can already tell that I'm supposed to marry her and be with her forever.

Saturday evening, 6:40 p.m.: My friends arrive at my house to drink and play with my new dog. Unfortunately, I spend most of my time like a recluse in my office, working feverishly to get my work done, with the usual food and porn breaks. If you're wondering, chicken club Panini, tomato soup and lesbian.

Saturday evening, 8:00 p.m.: Speaking of lesbian porn, my friends Body Burner and Caveman stop by my office. Caveman is astonished to learn that I have three laptops.

Caveman: Why do you have three laptops?

Body Burner: Is one laptop for porn?

Me: One laptop for porn? That's silly. I have porn on all three laptops.

Saturday evening, 9:00 p.m.: My friends leave. This is not before a super-drunk Adrienne informs me that she's been drinking since 1.

I'm sad. I feel like I'm the only sober person in the world. Fortunately, it's almost time to begin drinking.

Saturday night, 11:50 p.m.: I arrive at Tango, late again because of work and the NCAA Tournament. The first thing I notice is that it's packed. Like super packed, as if it's a crappy downtown bar. Tango usually has 40-50 people on a weekend night. There are hundreds here for St. Patrick's Day.

I have mixed feelings about this. On one hand, there are more hot chicks to drunkenly leer at. On the other hand, I'll have to wait to get a drink, while there will certainly be many people trying to play darts, pool and Boobies.

Saturday night, 11:55 p.m.: I'm not too upset anymore because I see the hot blond bartender. She's wearing a green tank top and fishnet stockings. I discuss this with Not Asian Guy.

Me: She's pretty hot.

Not Asian Guy: Oh yeah. I'm a fan of the fishnet stockings.

Me: I'm not crazy about those in general, but she pulls it off.

Not Asian Guy: Yeah, a lot of girls can't pull them off, but she can.

Saturday night, 12:01 a.m.: It's past midnight, and we still haven't gotten our beers yet. There are just so many people, so the hot blond bartender hasn't seen me yet. I'm beginning to get restless. I don't even see Pink Baseball Cap Girl. This is going to be the worst St. Patrick's Day ever.

Saturday night, 12:03 a.m.: The other bartender, an older woman with black hair, finally sees us. I give her a $5 tip for three drinks - the amount I usually reserve for the hot blond bartender - so we can get faster service next time.

Saturday night, 12:15 a.m.: We sit around and talk. Jess and Matt are apparently waiting for a pool table to open up. Meanwhile, I'm shocked to see Crazy Horse Girl walk by. She's pretty surprised to see me too. It's a good thing we've made up, or she would undoubtedly harass me about not signing her ridiculous horse petitions.

Saturday night, 12:20 a.m.: Crazy Horse Girl and some other chick get to talking. They somehow come to realize that they've both slept with the same dude, and they discuss how cheap he is. Not Asian Guy and I joke about this.

Not Asian Guy: I can be cheap too!

Me: Here's a dollar. Oh wait, you can't have it!

Saturday night, 12:30 a.m.: A pool table is finally free. Jess, Matt and Jamie all go over, while I order another beer. The hot blond bartender serves me this time, but she has a disgusted look on her face as she's giving me my beer.

I'm pretty disgruntled by this. I think hastily about all the reasons she might be disgusted with me:

1. I have a booger on my face.

2. She heard me talking about her fishnet stockings and now thinks that I'm a pervert. Of course, she should have realized this after the many times I drooled while looking at her cleavage.

3. I gave her usual $5 tip to the older bartender, so she's jealous. She now knows that I may want to sleep with the other bartender, so she's upset because she wants me so bad.

No. 3 is definitely the reason. I'm sorry, hot blond bartender. I'll still sleep with you - I swear!

Saturday night, 12:50 a.m.: Jess and I beat Matt and Jamie in pool twice because they manage to prematurely sink the eight ball twice. As the second game wraps up, my heart sinks - I see Pink Baseball Cap Girl. The girl of my dreams. She's not wearing a pink baseball cap this time though, so I don't recognize her right away. She is still hot though.

Saturday night, 1:00 a.m.: I'm talking to Pink Baseball Cap Girl, and she seems really into the conversation. The following topics are discussed:

1. She's about to turn 22. Not bad.

2. She works as a bathroom cleaner at Parx Casino. She hates it there. I've used the bathroom at Parx before, and I hate it there as well, so this is something we have in common. Also, is it weird that I'm turned on by the prospect that she cleaned up after me in the bathroom?

3. She's into astrology. She's proud of being a Gemini, and she cites that she's a "good Gemini," while her mother is a "bad Gemini." Yeah, if she weren't so good looking, I would have excused myself from the conversation at that point. But she's my dream girl.

4. She doesn't like her life right now because it's so monotonous - she wakes up, cleans up poop in the Parx bathrooms, goes to sleep, rinse, repeat. She wants to go to school, and I encourage it. I know some people dream of cleaning of feces in casino bathrooms, but I can tell that she's yearning for more. We have that sort of connection.

5. She tells me something. I forget what, but I ask her to explain it. She says, "I'll have to tell you over lunch sometime." Score! Bad decisions and lunch? I'm a lucky man.

Saturday night, 1:10 a.m.: We're still talking, but I'm out of beer. I ask if she wants another one, and she doesn't give me an answer. She gives me a curious look, and then stares at her bottle. I have no idea what she's trying to insinuate, so I figure I'll just by her another Miller Lite.

Saturday night, 1:12 a.m.: The hot blond bartender is still scowling at me. I order two beers from her, yet when she fills them up, she asks the older bartender to give the drinks to me. I can hear her thinking, "You want to sleep with her? Fine! She can give you beer!"

Saturday night, 1:15 a.m.: I go back to Pink Baseball Cap Girl. She's talking to a tall, black guy with glasses, who turns out to be a member of the band that was playing that night. He tells me to come see their show downtown next week. I tell him that I will, even though I have no intention of doing so - not just because I don't want to go downtown, but because I was afraid he'd use his superior athleticism to kick my a** if he I turned him down. What? That's racist? Umm... I said he's tall, which is better than my short and fat attributes.

Saturday night, 1:17-1:20 a.m.: Pink Baseball Cap Girl and I resume talking. I have to hold her Miller Lite beer because she's only halfway done the one she's currently drinking. I guess that's why she gave me that quizzical look.

At any rate, Always Trashed Girl comes over and tells me that she needs to borrow Pink Baseball Cap Girl for some "girl time." This is how some of my lesbian porn videos start, so I take this as a good sign.

Saturday night, 1:21 a.m.: My friends are still by the pool table. Adrienne is sitting on it, and she's not in good shape at all. There's a cup of ice next to her, and I'm afraid she's going to knock it over, so I move it to the other side of the table. She sees this and isn't too pleased that I'm not confident in her abilities.

Adrienne: Heyyy whhhaatt arreee yewww dooiinn?

Me: I'm moving the ice cup so you don't knock it over and ruin the pool table.

Adrienne: I'mm nooott gonnnn knoocckk ovvuurr!

Saturday night, 1:25 a.m.: I'm not totally sure what prompted this conversation, but I think I voiced my displeasure that only Irish people have a great holiday like St. Patrick's Day. "Why can't other nationalities have a pure drinking holiday?" I ask.

Jess, Adrienne and Val are all Russian, so we agree that there should be a Russian drinking holiday that mirrors St. Patrick's Day.

Jamie: What is it going to be called?

Me: I dunno... how about Stalin Day? No - St. Stalin's Day!

Matt: St. Stalin's Day? But Stalin was a terrible guy.

Me: Nah, nah, nah, nah, he was a good person on the inside.

Matt: Dude, he killed so many people!

Me: Yeah, but he meant well. The bad things happened by accident.

Matt: You can't call it St. Stalin's Day. You might as well have called it St. Sandusky's Day.

Saturday night, 1:30-1:50 a.m.: We spend the next 20 minutes planning out St. Stalin's Day. We decide that it should be in the beginning of May because there's a huge void between St. Patrick's Day and Memorial Day. Due to conflicts, however (birthdays, finals), we push it to May 19.

We will be wearing red on St. Stalin's Day (for the Red Army). We're going to make red t-shirts that say "Quit Stalin." We'll be drinking all day. We encourage all of you to do the same. You know how "everyone's Irish" on St. Patrick's Day? Well, everyone's Russian on St. Stalin's Day.

May 19. Wear red. Drink. Have a good time. Spread the word. St. Stalin's Day needs to become a worldwide holiday.

Saturday night, 1:55 a.m.: The five girls in our group - Jess, Adrienne, Val, Jamie and Crazy Horse Girl - all kiss each other at the same time. I kid you not.

Saturday night, 1:57 a.m.: Now, the girls are kissing me. I have pictures on Facebook as proof.

Saturday night, 2:00 a.m.: The five girls kiss again because the hot blond bartender missed it, and she wants to see it. She's upset that there's not any tongue. We both chant, "Tongue! Tongue! Tongue! Tongue! Tongue!" Looks like the hot blond bartender is friends with me again. Maybe she's confident that she can sleep with me again. That, or the booger is gone.

Saturday night, 2:05 a.m.: I have no idea where Pink Baseball Cap Girl was, but she reappears and is now talking to some trashy-looking woman in her 40s. Stupid trashy woman, interrupting my game.

Saturday night, 2:10 a.m.: The Tango staff tries to kick us out again. Of course, no one listens - except for Adrienne, who gets up from the pool table and somehow knocks over the cup of ice despite the fact that I moved it away from her. I guess it was just meant to happen. The pool table is ruined. The ice is all over the table, and some of the cubes fell into the pockets. Oh well, I tried.

Saturday night, 2:20 a.m.: We finally go outside. Pink Baseball Cap Girl is still talking to the older woman. Meanwhile, a couple of foreigners approach the girls in my group. Here's an important excerpt from the conversation:

Older Woman and Pink Baseball Cap Girl are having a deep conversation. Pink Baseball Cap Girl is venting about her horrible life - how she has to do the same crappy thing over and over, and yet has no money to show for it. Of course, if Hollywood didn't brainwash her and other girls into thinking that gold-diggers are bad, she could just marry a guy with money and make her life so much easier, but nooooo...

Saturday night, 2:30 a.m.: It's amusing listening to what Older Woman's advice. Here were some of her suggestions:

1. "You gotta move down ta Florida, hun, you'll be havin' the time of your life."

2. "You gotta move out ta Colorada, hun, my nephew went out ta Colorada, and he's havin' the time of his life."

3. "You just gotta live life, hun, or in 20 years, you'll be livin' the same way yer livin' right now."

That's some sage advice - and Pink Baseball Cap Girl is eating it all up. She nods her head in approval, and I can see that she is already envisioning having the "time of her life" in these new locations. I can't believe she's buying into this 40-year-old skank who is talking to people 20 years younger than her outside of a bar at 2 a.m., but I later realize that Pink Baseball Cap Girl is only one short of the bad decisions trifecta - cigarettes, tattoos and an inexplicable move to Florida or "Colorada." So, this all makes sense.

Saturday night, 2:40 a.m.: Older Woman won't stop talking, Pink Baseball Cap Girl won't stop listening, and I'm freezing. I want to leave. I ask Always Trashed Girl if she needs a ride home because she doesn't appear to be in any condition to drive. At this point, she wouldn't even make it out of the parking lot without crashing into a pole. And the bad news for her is that there aren't any cones remaining to keep her from doing so.

Pink Baseball Cap Girl: OK! Let me first find out where Blond Beads Girl is to see if she wants a ride.

Wow, Always Trashed Girl is the best wingman (or wingwoman) ever.

Saturday night, 2:50 a.m.: It takes 10 minutes to locate Blond Beads Girl. She was hooking up with some random dude. He tells everyone that there's a party at the Crown Plaza Hotel, so now Pink Baseball Cap Girl wants to go there. I'm not going. I have to go home at some point to let my dog out of his cage (he's 5 months old) - even if that means I miss out on Pink Baseball Cap Girl's worst decisions possible.

As I'm walking away, Always Trashed Girl runs over to say bye. She also apologizes for not helping me seal the deal with her friend. I'm fine with it - really. I tell her, "I just got so much awesome Jerks of the Week material, so it was worth it." She doesn't know what Jerks of the Week is, so she gives me a quizzical look. I get into my car and drive home.

Saturday night, 2:55 a.m.: With a stop at Wawa, of course! Hot Red Head is working there, which is awesome. I think there might be a possibility that she might make some bad decisions with me tonight, but she tells me that she's getting off at 7. Damn it.

Saturday night, 3:00 a.m.: As I'm waiting for my sandwich, Hot Red Head tells me about some of the crazy things that have happened at Wawa that night. One guy walked into one of the shelves and fell on the floor. Another guy gave her his jacket because "I got into a fight and the cops saw me, so take my jacket so they don't recognize me!"

This is why I love St. Patrick's Day. Everyone gets super drunk and does stupid crap, yet they have no idea why. This is exactly why we need St. Stalin's Day. Remember, May 19. It'll be epic.